


God's Playground

by Husaria



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-08-24 02:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16631033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Husaria/pseuds/Husaria
Summary: A collection of drabbles about Poland, ranging from memory to Independence Day.





	1. pamiętaj, polsko (remember, poland)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble based off of [this fanart](http://kyuhu.tumblr.com/post/179121169019) by kyuhu.

Times like these Poland wished he had a cigarette.

The weather had turned colder. Despite his sweater, the wind chilled the tips of his fingers. Out here, in Mazuria, Poland could see the stars reflected in the hundreds of lakes dotting the region. Tourist season had ended about a month ago. He needed this break.

He went through the motions of his job. The sickening static feelings crept up in his mind until he left work, sitting in front of the computer doing nothing for hours. Somedays he didn’t get home until past midnight. Some mornings he threw up from increasingly frequent migraines. His boss asked him if he was alright, but with everything going on in the country, how could he tell _the truth_?

When was the last time he had a cigarette?

Lithuania used to smoke cigarettes all the time. Lithuania was his good friend, his partner. Cold nights like this brought back the memory of them sneaking off from Warsaw during the Commonwealth. They’d go off to some little house in the countryside and—

Wait, did that happen?

He closed his eyes and tried to remember, _remember_ , _pamiętaj, Polsko_.

But Poland opened his eyes, and he was alone.


	2. tonight, the sky is calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the 100th anniversary of Polish independence.

The winds have changed.

A cold, fall mist settled over Warsaw. Polish flags hung from every corner and lamppost. Despite the holiday, the streets were empty. They wouldn’t be in a few hours.

This morning Poland found himself, of all places, at the top of Palace of Culture and Science.

Up here, the wind blew hard, flapping his jacket and hair. All of his heart was spread below him, from east to west, north to south, Ochota to Praga, Młociny to Kabaty. The Vistula flowed through the city like a vein.

Around him was the air. The open sky meant wilderness, the unknown, danger from above, terror in the form of arrows and bombs from planes.

Poland took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He faced enough dangers this past century. People and kings and presidents and governments could come and go but the sky remained eternal.

It meant the limitless possibilities and paths that Poland could chart for himself and his people in this day and age and the next 100 years.

He breathed out and walked away.

_sto lat_


	3. take your word

Rain poured over Moscow.

_Liet, I took you for granted. I’m sorry about that stupid war. I’m sorry I stopped talking to you._

_“Liet!”_ Poland exclaimed.

Lithuania closed the umbrella. His hair and clothes had begun to get wet.

Poland stopped and panted, putting both hands on his knees. “S-Sorry, I just…” He held up the folded paper.

Lithuania took the letter and read it over.

He wordlessly handed it back to Poland and closed the car door.

Poland turned the letter over. The ink had blotched from the rain and started running down the paper in an incomprehensible mess.


End file.
